


Teach Me to Gamble with My Heart

by delighted



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Episode: s09e11 Hala I Ke Ala O'i'ole Mai (Gone on the Road from which There Is No Returning), F/M, Feelings, Friendship, Happy Ending, Jealousy, Love, M/M, Pining, ambiguous Steve/Catherine, temporary Danny/Harry, ultimate Steve/Danny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 08:36:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17484791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delighted/pseuds/delighted
Summary: A story of hurt and loss and love and healing, starting with the events of season nine episode eleven:He doesn’t ask himself if he thinks Steve contacted Catherine or the other way around because he doesn’t want to know. Not when Steve doesn’t look entirely happy to see him, not when their hug feels stiff and stilted. And not when Cath so obviously gets what Steve is doing in a way that Danny just can’t. Steve’s crossed lines before, but something about this feels very different.... And it’s hurting Danny’s already sore heart.





	Teach Me to Gamble with My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Ohhh, this story. I kinda didn't want it to end.... I hope you enjoy reading it even just a fraction of how much I loved writing it.
> 
> **Please be aware and read accordingly:**
> 
> Steve/Danny is the final destination, but there is Danny/Harry on the way.
> 
> There's no outright Steve/Catherine, but there is no Catherine hating either. 
> 
> Also: There is a happy ending. But it starts off a bit dark and there are references to torture, blood, lives taken, and loved ones lost.

It isn’t exactly the reunion he had in mind. 

He didn’t imagine he’d drive up and Steve would fall into his arms, confess his undying love, they’d have a week of unbelievable sex under the stars, or on a bearskin rug by a roaring fire... no. Those hadn’t been thoughts that had occupied Danny’s mind during the flight to Montana. Or the drive to the ranch. And it’s not like he dusted off his old lucky leather jacket (which due to living in Hawaii he’s not worn in ages, thanks) thinking it’s never failed him before.  
  
_Oh god_. To see Steve like this. Even more buff than usual. Rough and rustic. Mountain man. No, those aren’t fantasies Danny’s had in his life. Bearded Steve isn’t something he’s wondered about. Dreamt about. Not in the least. Danny’s never had much luck with dreams anyway. Besides.

_He should have seen it coming_.

He’s told himself that roughly sixty times since it happened. Of course Catherine would go to him. Of course she fucking would. He doesn’t ask himself if he thinks Steve contacted her or the other way around because he doesn’t want to know. His heart can’t take  _that_  on top of everything else.

Not when Steve doesn’t look entirely happy to see him, not when their hug feels stiff and stilted. And not when Cath is so obviously at home here. She gets what Steve is doing in a way that Danny just can’t. Not when he’s covered in another man’s blood like that. Danny’s proud of himself for not throwing up, but it takes something out of him—Steve’s crossed lines before, but something about this feels very different. And it’s hurting Danny’s already sore heart.

Catherine’s look of pity doesn’t exactly help.

She tries to distract Danny. For a bit. Small talk’s not really her strong suit, and she may not have her hands covered in blood, but unlike Danny, who can only imagine, Cath probably knows exactly what methods Steve’s been using to get that guy tied up in the barn to talk. Danny only hopes Steve’s not working from his own collection of  _things done to him_... but he’s pretty sure he is. And that just makes Danny want to punch something until his fists bleed. Which he doesn’t do. Because he’s the civilized one in this scenario. 

Steve does take Danny on a tour of the ranch, after he washes most of the blood off his hands. But he’s clearly distracted, and more than that. The month since Joe’s death has done nothing to stanch Steve’s flow of guilt and self-blame. Not to mention heartbreak. And Danny so badly wants him to pause. Just for a moment. Talk to him, say something that isn’t about the plan, isn’t about revenge, isn’t about leaks and treachery and national security and guilt. And blame. 

Because Steve blames Greer, yeah. But Danny knows—Steve blames  _himself_  for her. And he will never let that go. Not even when he’s got her too. 

Danny remembers, fucking far too well. What it did to Steve the last time he was betrayed by someone he’d considered  _more than a friend_. When he’d had to kill that person. To save himself and his team. 

This is different. Danny knows that. But Danny’s certain Greer won’t go down without a lot more than a fight. He knows Steve wouldn’t. He just hopes this ends with someone still standing. With something left to live  _for_.

By the time they settle in for the night, knowing at last where they go next, Danny’s pretty well given into the mutual gloom Steve and Cath are radiating. 

At least it’s a warm and companionable gloom.

They have a routine. That much is clear, and it shouldn’t surprise Danny, them both being as steeped in military life as they are. Probably it helps them cope. But he’s glad he can give them a little bit of a break from it, if only for one night. One night before the final stage of their revenge tour kicks off. 

So he’s glad he’d stopped in town for a few sandwiches and some beer, just in case Steve was living as rough as he’d imagined. Because he’s fairly sure Cath and Steve have been existing on MREs and dusty bottles of moonshine. Danny’s content with mediocre roast beef on rye and a decent bottle of local beer, but Cath and Steve act like turkey and bacon with Swiss is a grand feast. And the local kettle cooked potato chips aren’t bad, but maybe it’s the sugar from the huckleberry brownies that sets them over the edge, because with two bottles of the Bitterroot seasonal brew in them, they’re almost giddy as they pack for what’s next.

Danny meanwhile just feels sick. He’s sorry for them. For their pain, for their loss. For what it’s made them do. But he’s almost as sorry for himself... for his hurts, for being left out. And he hates that.

He doesn’t inquire about sleeping arrangements that night. He takes the sleeping bag Steve tosses at him, throws it in the corner of the room Steve shows him. And he takes the grumbled  _better sleep now, don’t know when we next will_  to heart. Tries to go directly to sleep. Tries not to listen—not just because he doesn’t want to hear the whimpers of that battered man still in chains out in the barn. There’s another sound that would hurt Danny more to hear. So he doesn’t look up when Cath wishes him good night. And when Steve pauses next to him, gruffly admitting he’s glad Danny came, Danny pretends to be asleep, because if it’s a lie, he knows he’ll see it in Steve’s eyes.... And he thinks that might kill him.

He almost thinks things will get better in the morning when the others join them. But Cath’s fond greeting for Junior stirs in him the realization that maybe it’s all some kind of Navy thing, that Danny just can’t quite hope to fit in when the rest have so much in common. And why is it he always ends up surrounded by sailors anyway? While he hates the water. It feels like some kind of metaphor for his life, and it’s making him sea sick. Which of course helps so much with the whole sitting-on-the-floor-sideways-in-a-cargo-plane thing.

He feels very much the odd man out, is the point. And he’s starting to compensate in his usual way, with bits of snarky humor. At least it fits with the dark mood of the rest of the team. He can match them in that, at any rate. But the rest of it? He’s so far out of his depth and he knows it. He’s seen what these people can do. He’d not been the same after watching that footage of the SEAL strike team all those years ago, knowing Steve had done stuff like that. And probably worse. He knows that for sure now. He’s seen the blood on Steve’s hands that proves it. It’s different enough from what they do on a normal daily basis—which in and of itself is kind of ridiculous when you think about it. But Danny’s never felt so much like he didn’t belong. He’d almost regret coming, but he knows there’s no other place he  _could_  be. And he’s glad at least for that. Whatever it costs him. He’d never be able to live with himself otherwise.

Still. It would hurt less if Steve would...  _what_? That’s exactly it, though, isn’t it? What is it Steve could possibly do right now other than what he’s doing? Absolutely nothing. And Danny knows that. He does. He’s just being a selfish idiot. An idiot who is feeling very hurt and wrong footed. And less valuable than the highly trained Naval operatives surrounding him. Less needed. And less  _wanted_. 

So it’s hardly surprising that it’s a relief to Danny when he sees Harry. When he feels that glittering gaze on him once again. Feels that prickle of appreciation. Finds himself being eyed again like he’s a fine wine to be savored or a painting to be acquired—or something maybe a tad less civilized.... There’s simply no sensation on earth quite like being admired by Harry Langford. And okay, Danny’s glad for it.

Danny enjoys being admired, he’s only human. But Harry’s warm gaze on him has been something slightly uncomfortable in the past. It’s tended to leave him feeling like he needs to hold it off or he’ll be lost. Lost in a way (and he knows himself well enough to realize this) that never goes well for him. After all, it’s not like he’s never been seduced by silken English tones before.

But right now? Well, judge him all you want but it’s a balm alright? A fucking sexy balm on his hurt feelings of the past month. The whole damn month he’d tried to give Steve his space, tried to be understanding of Steve’s wishes that Danny stay out of it, tried to let Steve alone to do what he needed to do. But Danny’s never been pushed away by Steve quite like that before, and he never imagined he would be. So when Harry greets Danny like he’s not just happy to see him, but looks him up and down like he’s a thing to be  _desired_. Well, fuck. He’s only human. A hurt, horny, lonely human. 

And he’s pretty sure Harry can tell.

Harry’s flirted with Danny in the past, but lightly, playfully. In London he worked out Danny’s thing for Harry’s posh English accent, and Harry had been unable to resist having some fun with that—though he was careful to not cross any lines. Then, his last time on the island with the whole Sophie thing, Harry discovered  _he_  has a thing for Danny’s keen awareness and compassion for his teenage-daughter situation. So it’s a bond that has developed slowly but with meaning. And it’s playful but there’s heat there as well, and a definite sense of promise, of  _what might be_. And it’s created an undeniable pull on each of them. Which Danny has struggled to resist.

But now there’s something else as well. And it’s not just Danny’s hurt-and-in-need-of-affirmation context. Because the look Harry gives him as Steve introduces the others is...  _assessing_. He’s running odds in his head, Danny’s almost certain of that. And as Danny watches, Harry adjusts his posture, and a shiver of anticipation floods Danny’s system. He’s pretty sure Harry just worked out he’s finally got a shot with Danny, and it damn well looks like he plans on taking it. And the thing is. Danny’s pretty sure he doesn’t mind.

He and Junior sit back with beers while Harry teaches Catherine and Steve the finer points of baccarat, but Steve’s not really in it. He’s probably too tired, too wired, too amped up to focus on a subtle card game. Danny thinks it should be Harry doing the op, not Steve. And maybe him instead of Catherine. After all, Danny’s far better at cards than either Steve or Catherine—he has the winnings over the years to prove it. But of course, this op belongs to the wonder twins. Good thing Cath has the nerve to pull it off on her own, because Danny’s pretty sure Steve’s not going to be helping her in any substantive way tomorrow night.

In fairness to Steve, Harry’s whole  _you have to play married_  and  _here’s your rings_  thing had been a bit much. Danny half wonders if that doesn’t explain Steve’s crummy mood at least in part. Catherine proved she has the better poker face, took it in stride, turning immediately (if a little bit sassily) softer at Steve’s side. A little too easily, all things considered, for Danny’s comfort. Because really, even when Steve and Cath were together—for that brief time when Danny thought it would all work out for them. Even then, they were never exceptionally domestic or loving. Companionable, yes. Playful and sweet, or at least (jealousy aside for the moment) so it seemed to Danny. After all, Danny’s had his own playful, sweet, companionableness over the years.

This is different. There’s that territorial intrinsic  _knowing_  that just oozes out of her pores. All over Steve like some kind of protective shielding available only to Naval intelligence officers. And Danny’s seen it before with the two of them. It was there in Montana, in spades. But there’s a tenderness there now as well. It’s still territorial—which Danny thinks will work really well in the casino, because Catherine with Steve as trophy husband reads more easily than the other way round. She’s too intrepid a personality to be a trophy wife, not to someone like Steve. And it would be an utter useless waste of her abilities to ask her to be anything less than she is. So Danny’s actually relieved by the strength of Cath’s possessiveness over Steve for once, because it’s probably going to save his ass tomorrow. But the ease and tenderness with which she folds up at Steve’s side right now, claiming him softly, well it speaks of an intimacy Danny can’t bear to imagine. And he’s having a hard time swallowing it. 

Fortunately, Junior is simply smitten with her, and doesn’t notice Danny’s morose mood.

“She’s amazing, isn’t she? I’ve heard so much about her—from Steve, obviously, but from others in service as well. She’s done some crazy stuff, man. I can’t believe she told me to call her Catherine.”

He sounds a little bit like a lovesick pup, which is so ironic as far as insults go, coming from Danny right now. Though in his defense, he’s more the wounded, bitter, lovesick  _fool_  than anything as sweet as a  _pup_. Still, he doesn’t really need to be hearing praise about Fair Saint Catherine at the moment, thanks very much.

Harry’s gaze keeps drifting over to Danny. He knows Danny’s paying attention, probably knows Danny’d be better on this op than Steve (Harry’s lost to Danny in enough hands of cards to know who has the better poker face). Still, he’s trying to teach Steve what he can. Then, while Cath tries to explain something to Steve, Harry himself drifts over, and maybe Junior is more aware than Danny gives him credit for because he excuses himself to go get some food.

“You could help him, you know.” Harry says gently, sliding into the seat next to Danny, moving in close. He’s warm, which surprises Danny though he knows it shouldn’t. Harry radiates an easy calm coolness, but his eyes are always all warmth. They’re more than that now, as he takes Danny’s drink from him, has a sip, and hands it back, making sure their fingers touch. “He’s doing okay at faking it, but his heart’s not in it. Catherine is going to have to pull his weight tomorrow, I’m afraid. Has his poker face always been this bad?”

Danny lets his grin out crooked. “It’s always been bad, but not  _this_  bad. He’s off his game. He’s too full of grief and rage, and it’s been consuming him for more than a month.” Too late he hears the bitterness in his tone. Knows he’s given too much away. Knows, too, that Harry will recognize it for what it is.

“Hey,” Harry’s voice drops lower, as does his hand, and it tangles firmly with Danny’s at his side. “There’s nothing you could have done about that. You were right to let him get this out. He has to do this... then he’ll be back. You know he will.”

Danny’s eyes flutter closed. Yeah, he knows. At least he thinks he does. But it’s nice to hear it, even if it’s not from Steve himself. He opens his eyes, looks down at their hands, where Harry’s rubbing soft circles against his palm, and fuck but if that isn’t simultaneously soothing and a huge goddamn turn on. He draws his fingers gently against Harry’s hand and looks up into those soft, warm eyes. They’re a deeper blue than Danny’s own, and he finds them mesmerizing. Part of that might be how much he misses being looked at like this. Like he’s everything. Like he’s some stellar center around which entire systems revolve.

Steve used to look at him like that.  

Harry sighs, takes another drink from Danny’s beer. “I understand if you don’t want to help him right now, but he really is flailing with this. He could use you by his side tonight, if you think you can stand it. I’ll distract Catherine. She’s going to need to know a couple tricks for back up anyway.”

Danny gives one last squeeze on Harry’s hand, sets his beer down, and nods. “Yeah, can’t let my boy go into battle unprepared, right?”

“Good man,” Harry says, and as they stand, he lets his arm linger around Danny’s shoulder, a soft squeeze promising  _more, later_.

Harry’s only a couple inches shorter than Steve, but it makes him closer to Danny’s own height, and there’s something nice about that. Something comforting, something safe. Nothing about Steve feels safe right now, and Danny is so unused to that, it’s got him all turned around.

Still, when he seats himself at Steve’s side, he senses Steve pull more into focus, and it’s nothing like they’re used to, but it’s more than they’ve had, and it makes something feel a little less not okay deep in Danny’s belly. Steve really is more lost than Danny’s seen him, and it’s clear he’s trying to listen to what Danny tells him. But it’s equally clear it’s just not taking. 

After a few attempts, Danny settles into what he thinks is more likely to help, and gently goads Steve into a mood. Soft banter, posture, expressions... mirroring, perhaps. And maybe it’s manipulative, but if Steve can’t be the stellar card player, he can certainly be the jackass egotistical showman, and Danny knows too easily how to bring that out in him. He’ll have to pull Cath aside later and make sure she knows... but they’ve had enough  _what can you do with Steve_  conversations over the years for him to guess she’ll know what he means without him having to say too much.

And, sure enough... when he looks up, both Cath and Harry are watching them, and he sees Harry acknowledge what he’s done, managing Steve’s mood to their advantage. He whispers to Catherine, who looks at Danny with a momentary hint of a sad smile, then a nod and a mouthed  _thank you_ , and she and Harry move off towards the food and drink.

There’s a moment where Danny almost thinks Steve’s recognized what Danny’s done. And he might admit it, apologize for being an ass, thank Danny.... But it passes, turns instead into an exhausted sigh but with something still held back, and Danny wants to imagine something hopeful in that, but it’s hard when what’s in front of him is a Steve who feels heavier, weightier, than he’s ever known him before. Part of that surely is age. The bitterness, the hurt... it’s dragging him down. And losing Joe is a different hurt. A deeper one. And one he’s got too many reasons to blame himself for—which is never going to go well with Steve. It pulls at Danny, the levels of Steve’s hurt. It’s why he’s here. Part of why he’s here. He hates that he feels like he can do nothing, like nothing he would ordinarily do could help. He wants to put his arm around Steve, pull him close, let him cry. Let him confess he doesn’t want to be doing this, it’s too much, he’s gone too far, he no longer knows when to stop, where to draw lines. Danny can feel it in him. He doesn’t need to hear it. But he’s afraid Steve isn’t able to say it, and Danny’s not sure what that means.

So he makes him eat instead. He likes to think he at least still has that ability. He’d guessed, from their improvised sandwich party last night, that Cath was impressed with how well Steve had eaten, and Danny half wanted to hit her over the head and say something along the lines of  _Couldn’t you have fed my boy some real food at least once in the past month?_  But he knows she would have punched him, not just for the sexist component of that comment (which is bullshit by the way because at home mostly it’s Danny feeding Steve, thank you very fucking much), but because he’d known, from the look on her face. She’d tried.

Score one for Danny Williams.

He feels Cath watching him as he assembles a plate of the food Harry’s arranged for them. It’s mostly hotel buffet style stuff, vaguely Americanized sandwich type things on slightly odd bread, with some relishes and chutney type things, and Danny pulls things apart, puts them back together in a different order, with different toppings, and ends up with a plate of sandwiches he sets before Steve that actually draws his interest enough to take a couple bites. Before Danny knows it, Steve’s eaten them all, almost mindlessly, but easily. Comfortably. Almost thankfully.

“Oh, you’re good,” Cath whispers when she corners him later by the drinks. Steve’s off on the other side of the room now, going over details of the op with the guys for the fifteenth time. 

Her comment, her presence, even her sweetly soft soapy smell trips him up enough to draw a wry, crooked grin from him. “Eh, sandwiches are my super power,” he jokes, slightly uncomfortable with where she might be going.

“No, it’s more than that.” 

She leans back against the counter, drink in hand, assessing him in a way that feels different from how she’s sized him up in the past. He’s never thought she didn’t like him, or saw him as a threat. Never that. She’s far too confident and not nearly egotistical enough. She knows what her power is with Steve. And she’s practical enough to admit Danny’s got his. But the look on her face now is fonder than it would normally be, and that twists something sharp within his gut. He can’t process her being affectionate with him. It’s so much easier if he can at least pretend to be uneasy with her. She obviously doesn’t care.

“You know him. You know his moods. You can read him like I never could. Know what he needs, what he wants.” Danny’s about to protest that, and she stops him. “I know it on the battlefield, sure. But it’s different. You know it just... with  _him_. I couldn’t get him to eat. You figured that out.” She pauses on a slight huff of frustration. “Think you can get him to sleep, too?” 

And  _that._ That’s going too far into territory Danny will  _not_  get into with her. He laughs awkwardly and makes another drink, and doesn’t answer, because fuck would he like to try. He’s thought of it. Thought a lot about it. But he’s pretty sure Cath’s tried at least some of the approaches Danny would take, though he may be better equipped in certain ways to deal with the situation. And that’s just not a thing he can even think about in her presence. 

So he focuses her back on the op, and the card game, and what the casino will be like. It’s not her chosen territory—she’s more comfortable with sand beneath her boots than marble under precarious heels. Danny, of course, is more the roof-over-my-head type, and she teases him gently while he tries to convince her it’s a battlefield just the same and the game may be different but the goal is still winnable.  _And_  that she can do it. On her own if need be. 

Because one thing is clear. They’re both feeling uncertain of Steve at this point. He’s further over the line than either of them have known him—Danny can see his understanding of that fact echoed in her eyes. They also both know they’d each do anything it took to pull him back over that line. What’s  _not_  clear, at least to Danny, is which of them will manage it. 

But Danny knows, right now, that he needs to push her back to Steve tonight. Because the next part of this insane revenge plot depends on them being convincing together. As a couple. Which, fortunately or unfortunately depending on where you sit, they’re actually quite effective at.

“Think you two will cope on a bed instead of the floor tonight?” And he digs his fingers into his palms as he says it, but his nails are bitten so far down there’s nothing to give him that spark of pain he needs, to do this, to send them to bed together. 

Lucky for him, her smile does it. It’s strained, but it’s sweet, and it feels like a slow bleed on Danny’s heart. 

“ _I’ll_  manage. Steve will fight sleep until he passes out, but yeah. Hopefully he’ll sleep. God knows he needs it.” And she stands to walk away, letting her hand rest, warmly, on Danny’s arm, far longer than he’d like. “Good night, Danny.” 

“‘Night,” he says after her, and he hopes it doesn’t sound as bitter and pathetic as he feels. 

He watches as Catherine makes her way to Steve. And she doesn’t say anything, just stands in front of him and waits for him to look up. When he does, she gives him a slight nod of her head, and Steve doesn’t hesitate for even one second. He stands, and she walks towards the hall that leads to the bedrooms. He mutters a couple last things to Junior and Harry, and he follows her. To bed. 

Junior yawns, stretches, says he’d better join the rest—Wade having gone to sleep early, claiming old man’s prerogative. Which leaves just Danny and Harry.

“You okay?” Harry asks softly, but without getting up or motioning for Danny to come sit near him.

Danny doesn’t think he is, and he’s pretty sure that’s obvious to Harry. But he’s also unsure about everything. Maybe more so now they’re here, now this is happening. He’s also kind of insanely tired, as sleeping on the floor may be fun for Steve and Cath, but it is decidedly  _not_  in the Danny Williams book of  _How to Get a Good Night’s Sleep_. Harry smiles grimly and stands, walking to where Danny’s started leaning his weight against the counter in favor of trying to hold it all up on his own. 

“Better try and get some sleep,” Harry says in that same soft tone. But he doesn’t try to console Danny, doesn’t offer comfort. And honestly Danny’s relieved, because he doesn’t think he could take Harry being comforting to him right now. Because he would take, and take, and take.... And he needs to sleep. And to not think. And maybe tomorrow....  _Yeah._  He has  _no_  idea what tomorrow will look like. But there’s only one way to find out, and it’ll go a whole lot better if he sleeps first. 

Still, he fights falling asleep for a bit. He’s afraid of his dreams. He’d had what he wouldn’t call nightmares the night before, because he never was sure he was really asleep. But images floating, swirling, passing  _through_  him.... Of Steve with blood on his hands, of Cath helping him, of Danny... lost and unsure. 

When he finally lets go and drifts off, there’s a new figure in that mess of confusing images. One that’s more clear, more solid, more real....  _Harry_. And he holds out his hand to Danny, to pull him out of the swirl of shadows and mist and uncertainty. And when Danny takes it, it’s firm and it’s warm, just like Harry’s real hand had been. And it grounds him, roots him, centers him in a way that feels so solid, so tangible. And it’s such a relief. Such a comfort. And when he wakes, he wishes it were real.

  
Mostly what the morning looks like is five people used to prepping for ops, and Danny, who knows enough to understand what they’re doing, and knows enough to stay out of the way. He’s gonna be running comms with Harry from the safe house, and he hates that, hates not getting to be at Steve’s side, but he knows this is all on Steve and Cath tonight.

So he falls into feed-the-dumb-people-who-keep-forgetting-to-feed-themselves mode, and Steve blindly accepts what Danny gives him, but eats, so there’s that. Cath kisses him on the cheek, in thanks for her own food, but also, Danny knows, for Steve’s. Junior and Wade thank him gruffly and absently while focusing on their gear. Only Harry thanks him with eye contact. A soft, lingering gaze that reinforces the imagery from his dream, and the feeling somehow that he and Harry are the only two who are real in all of this.

That changes a bit in the evening. Waking up from naps (or attempted naps), they refresh themselves with some food not forced on them by Danny, and the energy starts to pick up, especially once Steve and Catherine get dressed. There’s laughter and smiles and a playful camaraderie that Danny feels more comfortable with than the quiet seriousness that’s so far permeated the day. But Steve’s single-mindedly focused on the op, and his energy is slightly strained and weird, so Danny figures he should try and get a moment alone with Cath to remind her to manage his mood so he doesn’t trip her up at the baccarat table tonight. She’s a step ahead of him, however, and when he catches her eye, they both step off to the side.

“If you have to get inside his head tonight, I need to know you can do it,” she says when they’re out of earshot of Steve. “Whatever you need to say, and I’m sorry it’ll have to be on comms so we’ll all hear it, but you’ll know sooner than I will if he needs it.” 

It surprises him. He knows she can handle Steve if she needs to. But maybe she’s trying to make him feel useful, or maybe she’s worried about the other stuff she might have to deal with and really does want to know Danny’ll be her back up. Which, actually, makes him feel a little less like a useless lump of unhelpful not-secret-agent-ness. So he nods, says “Yeah, of course,” and then turns to admiring the dress Harry chose for her, which frankly isn’t difficult to do. It’s a spectacular dress, and it looks as though it’s been made especially for her.  

She grins, honestly pleased by the attention (Danny realizes Steve hasn’t noticed how amazing she looks, the blind ass). She’s not normally into dresses, Danny knows, but he also knows she does appreciate quality. And Harry’s no slouch when it comes to selecting women’s formalwear. 

“Think he’ll let me keep it?”

Danny laughs. “Just try not to get any blood on it.”

She gives a perfect pretend-horrified gasp, and heads off to do her make-up, leaving Danny trying really hard not to think about the number of ways tonight might go south. 

It doesn’t end up being all that difficult, the not-thinking, because soon they’re all swept away on the flurry of preparations swinging into action and then off they go, and Steve’s really got Danny worried, he’s so fucking tense. No, not even tense... taut, like a bowstring that’s been pulled too far back. But somehow, it’s bringing Cath more into her own. 

She’s been playing backup to Steve. The calm, quiet, supportive presence at his side. Knowing what he’s after, where he’s going, and maybe helping to guide him a bit, but mostly letting him do what he needs to do to get out this hurt in his heart.... But tonight, while Danny’s half afraid Steve’s going to snap under the strain of how much he’s been carrying for how long, Cath not only looks the part, as they head into the casino, Danny’s pretty sure she’s walking taller in more ways than just the heels. He’s not entirely sure what to make of it, but he’s damn glad.

He watches Steve on the cameras with unease, torn between that and admiring Catherine. Meanwhile, Harry’s got his eye on Steve, but for different reasons.

“He really does clean up nicely, doesn’t he?” Harry muses softly at Danny’s side. Playful, but with a thread of admiration all his own.

Danny doesn’t see it. All he sees is a Steve so fucking tense it has Danny’s heart clenched.

And maybe Harry knows, maybe he thinks he needs to break the tension somehow, and for some reason he decides that flirting with Steve is the right way to do it, or maybe it’s just the thing easiest at hand, but he says it on the comms, how good Steve looks, and Cath is on the ball, saying  _back off, he’s taken_. And at the very least it puts Steve into the role Danny thinks he can best pull off tonight.

“They do look fitting together.” Harry says to Danny, as Steve and Catherine enter the casino. “At first you think it’s him leading, then you think it’s her. But really, it’s them both _together_.” He sounds thoughtful, as though he’s processing something. “I’ve never understood why you and he weren’t together,” Harry murmurs. “Now I think I see why....”

Doesn’t Danny fucking know it. “Yeah, thanks very much for that,” he grumbles. 

But before Harry can reply, they all get swept up in the next phase, Steve and Cath getting their chips, getting settled at the table, Wade getting Junior his waiter garb arranged, and Junior taking over the drinks order. 

And then in that lull that follows, Harry catches Danny’s hand. “Daniel. You know I....” He swallows, and Danny has to admit. Slightly awkward Harry Langford is a sight to behold, and his already limited resolve is crumbling. 

“I think this isn’t a conversation for right now,” he manages. And yeah, he says it to Harry’s lips, but the dang man’s gone and licked them, so....

“Maybe later, then?” Harry asks softly. Hopefully.

And Danny’s not really sure if that’s one of those English not-really-a-question things or if Harry expects to hear an affirmative, but all Danny can do either way is nod. 

Harry’s sly smile in return sends a spark shuddering through Danny that’s the closest thing to something sexual he’s felt in so long he’s afraid he’s going to spend the rest of the op battling a hard on. Which of course leads to him glancing in the direction of Harry’s pants, and not being disappointed.

Fortunately there ends up being more than enough tension of the other sort to keep them well occupied. (Not that the two are mutually exclusive of course.)

Steve plays his part, as Danny’d foreseen it. Gruff, uncivilized. And it gives Catherine the ideal backdrop for her move when she needs it, to make a play for Dimitri without seeming suspicious, getting him to take a drink of the radiation-laced beverage so they can track him to Hassan’s hideout.

Danny feels for her, when the rush then comes and she’s holding her dress and running as best as she can in heels, but she manages just fine, and thankfully Harry’s plan works. Danny can only hope it’s enough to bleed some of that pent up tension off Steve before the final part. Because they knew it wouldn’t be easy, getting to Hassan. But it’s going to be more of a challenge getting into that fortress than even the SEALs are used to.

Still, there’s a bit of a high, after they get back to the safe house. Cath and Steve do seem lighter, though they remain laser focused. They’re very much within each other’s orbit tonight, staying in their casino garb while they grab celebratory drinks and some of the local food Danny helped Harry to set out. Spring rolls and spicy noodles, and a green papaya slaw that’s downright addictive. There’s also a shrimp salad that Danny wonders if he can’t convince Kamekona to copy. Hot shrimp plates are fantastic, but sometimes he likes something cool and refreshing. 

Speaking of things that are cool and refreshing, Steve looks very much like he’s had some of that. He’s easing up at Cath’s side at last. Probably by Cath having taken the op over tonight, having saved the day. Danny’s seen it happen with Steve before. Someone besides him did the thing—and he lived. It happens rarely enough that it’s as though when it does, it’s a break for Steve. And in this case, a very much needed one. Danny’s sure that by morning the lightness will be gone, but tonight... tonight is at least something. And it’s providing them all with some much needed relaxation along with the food and drinks.

Harry’s sitting next to Danny. Their thighs pressing against each other enough for Danny to feel the heat from Harry’s body tempting him. His cologne is subtle but enticing, and though Danny worked to fight it off while they were on comms, he’s not trying to fight it now. 

Cath has her feet in Steve’s lap, he’s taking her heels off for her, and there’s no question that spells intimacy. Danny just can’t tell if it’s old intimacy or if it’s current, and he hates how much that bothers him.

“I’m sorry about the ring thing,” Harry says, clearly noticing where Danny’s looking. “I didn’t really need to have them pretend to be married. I’m not sure why I did that.”

“Oh really?” Danny huffs out a breath that should be sarcastic, should be sharp. But it’s not. He surprises himself with how easy it is. And partly it’s the not-fighting-it thing. But there’s more to it than that, and he knows it. 

He looks down at where Harry’s holding his beer, resting atop his thigh, fingers trailing down his leg, fingers tips brushing the side of Danny’s thigh. It’s so subtle, Danny barely noticed at first. But his intent is clear. Crystal clear. 

“Because I kind of figured it was totally obvious why you did.”

Harry’s eyes meet his and it’s... it’s not electric. It’s been brewing too long for that. It’s slow and it’s seeping and it’s got this push to it that feels undeniable. Inevitable. 

“Back in London,” Harry says. “Before you found us beside Joanna’s grave, Steve and I were talking.” He sighs, and there’s a heaviness there Danny doesn’t hear from Harry a lot. And it occurs to him to wonder if part of why Harry’s become as attached to them as he has isn’t because of that connection. Steve having killed the man responsible for Harry’s wife’s death bonded them. Danny thinks he underestimated the impact that had on Harry. On all of them. 

He moves, subtly, turning just a little towards Harry, wanting him to feel his acknowledgement of their connection. And needing it himself. After all. He gets it, too. Steve was by his side as he took the life of the man who took Matt’s. So, yes. He gets it.

Harry notices Danny’s adjustment towards him and settles into it himself. Then he smiles. It’s his usual warm, amused smile. Dialed back a bit, but still the same at its core.  _This man_ , Danny finds himself thinking, _is remarkable_. And not just for the obvious James Bond reasons. Danny’s  _You’re more the Daniel Craig type_  comment comes back to him now with a flash of insight, and he sees so many more layers now than he could have guessed at then. But it’s his softness, his compassion, his undeniable warmth. It’s compelling in a way that Danny’s found attractive since that memorable day in London. 

But now, it’s becoming something more. And it frightens him. And, yeah, it excites him as well. 

“I told Steve that Joanna was the only one I’d ever really let in,” Harry says, and it makes Danny’s skin tingle in apprehension. “And he said he’d had one of those too, but didn’t anymore. Eventually I worked out he meant Catherine. And I know that’s in the past, but sometimes the past becomes, for the moment, all important. Like right now, Danny. It’s all about the past for them right now. And partly I’m being a manipulative ass. But they need to be a team in this. Not for the op, not for the win. Hell, you and I would have been the better choice for tonight, I think you know that too. But this  _has_  to be about them, because it’s about Joe. Plain and simple. This is how they heal.” 

He pauses. And Danny knows that Harry is thinking of his past. Things he’d done, on that quest to avenge his wife’s death. Things he still has to heal from, things he maybe never will. 

“They’ve both done things they will have a very hard time living with to get here. Even coming from one of us. Trust me, I know.” 

Danny does know. He’s seen it in Harry’s eyes. Felt it in his gaze. Seen it in the way he’s been looking at Steve and Cath. And the way he’s been looking at him. Danny drops his hand down against Harry’s. Needing to comfort him, wanting to do it more obviously. Not daring. Wishing he fucking did. Harry’s lips turn up slightly and his breath eases as he takes his beer bottle in his other hand and lets their fingers twine softly together in the slight space between their legs. 

“They need to be together for this. It’s the only way they’ll be okay with it.” He sighs and leans back a bit, shifting down in his seat, giving them more room between their thighs as he does, taking Danny’s hand more fully in his. “The fact that it got me you on comms with me tonight, well, that was just the icing on the cake, my dear Danny.”

They’d kiss, right then, Danny can feel it. If it weren’t for the other four people in the room. And he wants it. Hell, he  _needs_  it. 

So, once everyone’s in bed—or at least in their rooms—Danny pads softly, barefooted, into the hall. Keeps himself from listening at any doors, heads directly for Harry’s, finds it open just a crack, light spilling into the hall over the smooth floor. He pushes it open enough to slide in, and closes it quietly. Harry’s in bed, reading. Clearly waiting. Not pretending otherwise.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Danny says lamely. And it’s not true. He didn’t want to sleep alone is more accurate. He can’t bear to think Steve’s unbelievable luck surely is due to wear out at any moment. Won’t admit that to Harry. But he knows he doesn’t have to.

“For the record,” Harry says, setting his book and reading glasses down. “That was when you won me over.”

“What was?”

“In the cemetery in London. Asking me if the Queen would have fish and chips at the medal ceremony.”

Danny chuckles softly at the memory. It sounds, in his ears, like an echo of Harry’s laughter on that bittersweet day. “I just wanted to put a smile on your face.” 

Harry looks at him. Eyes so warm. Presses his lips together, the sweet winning over the bitter if only just for now. “I know. And you did.”

Really, they’ve been falling towards each other since then. It’s just been a matter of time.

Harry lifts the sheet, tucking Danny against him as he slides into place, and draws him, smoothly and in a single motion, into the hungriest kiss Danny’s felt in a very long time. It can’t just be him. Harry must kiss everyone like this. No one could want Danny this much. It just doesn’t compute with his life experience.   
  
But Harry does a really good job convincing him it’s true. Maybe they could hire him out, boost the egos of everyone wanting in that department. Because it doesn’t come close to making up for the hurt in Danny’s heart. But if Harry keeps going, it just might make him forget for a little while.

Fortunately, Harry  _does_  keep going. His kisses intensify, which seems improbable, but is incredible and true, and his hands begin to roam claimingly over Danny’s chest, along his arms, moaning his approval into Danny’s mouth, then journey lower. He pauses before his fingertips dip below Danny’s waistband.

He’s waiting for confirmation, like he might on an op. Unlike Steve who never waits, never asks, just... plunges. But Harry wants Danny to be sure. Thing is, the only thing Danny’s sure about is that he’s not sure of anything, so he pushes Harry on, with moans and thrusts, and he thinks he’s maybe doing a crappy job of convincing himself, let alone Harry, but Harry seems to understand, implicitly, what Danny needs, and he’s more than willing to give it—to  _take_  it. He’s made that much clear. He wants Danny. He knows Danny wants Steve. Harry doesn’t care.

Danny does. He cares very much. But right now he needs to be needed, and the only thing Steve needs right now is revenge for Joe’s death. And balm for his heart that will never come. Danny knows. Oh, god, Danny knows. Nothing will make that loss heal. No amount of torture, no amount of blood spilt.

But kisses and being wanted like this.... Well in the long run it won’t help either because in the morning Danny will remember that it’s Steve he wants, Steve he loves, Steve he needs... and Steve who doesn’t need him.

But tonight, Harry’s offering. So Danny’s taking.

And the thing is. It really does kind of help. Partly that’s because, Jesus fuck but Harry Langford knows what he’s doing with his tongue. Partly it’s that certain  _je ne sais quoi_ —Danny’d call it the Bond Factor if you asked nicely. Steve has it sometimes, when he wants to put it on. Harry seems to have it just naturally in his blood. Basically, he makes Danny feel like the only man in the world who matters. And that, and again, sorry for him being human and all, but that’s a damn powerful drug.

And yeah, it helps. It helps a lot.

Meanwhile, Harry’s gotten on board with the whole below-the-waistline thing, and he’s freed both Danny and himself, and with one hand is rubbing them gently against each other, slickness from somewhere smoothing the way miraculously, and  _damn_  that feels amazing. Okay, but seriously, a hand job’s never felt quite this delectable before. And maybe that’s partly the novelty of Harry’s intact dick, maybe it’s because just like every other part of Harry Langford, his cock is fucking smooth as silk. Whatever it is, Danny kind of hopes it never stops.

That, evidently, is also a Harry specialty. Maybe they teach really good sex in MI6 training. They do have the whole 007 reputation to live up to after all. But he knows exactly when to press forward, when to fall back—again, like in the field. And again, unlike Steve, who always presses unrelentingly forward, and  _goddammit_ , when will his mind stop comparing Harry to Steve? 

Fortunately the rush of that final release overwhelms him, and if nothing else it blocks everything out for one perfect moment of pleasure before the pain resumes swirling along with it. And that mix of pain and pleasure makes everything more heightened so that as he falls down from it, it brings a sleepy resignation. 

He lays tangled in Harry’s comforting limbs, and after he cleans them up, lets Harry stroke his arm, run his fingers through his hair. And maybe Harry senses Danny’s sleepy enough to let him talk, to not argue back, but slowly, quietly, he begins to lay out his plan... not for the op on the surface, but the one underneath. The one Danny’s been sensing Harry’s had on his mind. The one that very much plays on Danny’s heart.

“I hope you won’t think less of me for it, but I do have an agenda behind my advances towards you.” And before Danny can start to say something in response, Harry shushes him with a finger to his lips. “Just let me explain.” Harry takes his finger from Danny’s lips, resumes running his fingers through Danny’s hair, and it’s almost as though he already misses doing it, which hurts Danny somewhere in his heart.

“You are utterly wonderful, and if Steve didn’t love you, I would absolutely be after you for myself. That he does love you, I’ve never doubted. But I see that he can’t admit it.”

Danny shakes his head. Not sure which part he’s denying. Maybe all of it.

“My dear Danny,” Harry insists. “I saw it in London. Honestly, I thought he was about to make his move then—which is why I didn’t, even though I absolutely wanted to after your adorable performance in front of the Queen. And that time with the restaurant. I thought it was obvious you were close, if not already there. But then, when Sophie went missing? And you saw right through me... it took everything I had not to ask you to come back to London with me.”

Danny’s head is spinning by this point. And he wants to say something, but no words will come. Which makes Harry chuckle.

“So this time I’m leaving nothing to chance. This time I show him—this time, I make him show his hand. Yes, by claiming you, just for now. And however much time that means I get you in my bed. I’ll take.” He takes Danny’s hand and kisses it. “I know your heart belongs to him. And I can see his is in your hands even if you can’t yet. And my heart still and always belongs to Joanna. But....” The breath he takes is the shakiest Danny’s heard from him. It’s followed with one of those soft, warm smiles Danny loves so much. “I like you rather a lot, Danny Williams. And I think you like me too. And life is short and we have far too many losses between us.” He moves closer, clearly wanting to wrap Danny in his arms. “Sex is sex. But  _comfort_  is little and far too far in between. And I find comfort with you. And I think you do with me. And that’s everything that matters right now.”

He can’t deny it. He’s taken, so taken with this man. And these words are so much what he’s needed to hear. And he’s so tired. So he does what Harry wants. What  _he_  wants. And he settles down, against Harry’s chest.

“Sleep now, Danny. Just sleep.” Harry whispers it, then kisses the top of Danny’s head, and... Danny sleeps. 

Danny sleeps really fucking well. 

Like, better than since before all of this started more than a month ago. And maybe it’s partly that built up lack of sleeping well, maybe it’s the presence of a warm body in the bed with him. Maybe it’s something altogether different. And it doesn’t matter. Because he knows it won’t last. But for as long as it does, he knows he’ll take it. And appreciate it for what it is. And that means a lot to him.

  
Everyone’s all business in the morning, getting ready like a well-oiled machine, and though he probably shouldn’t be, Danny’s surprisingly optimistic. He doesn’t let himself think that it’s because he knows Harry will be at Steve’s side during the op. Can’t allow that thought or any of the others that threaten to follow from it. 

And all does go well in the end, thanks in no small part to Harry’s back up plan, and Danny could seriously kiss him, right there in front of everyone, for that brilliant move with the local police.   

But it was close. So the mood after is maybe more giddy relief than celebration. There’s that dark note, after all, with Steve finally knowing how to get to Greer. But first, blowing off a little steam. And maybe everyone’s got a little edginess built up that needs releasing. And maybe it’s Harry’s fault if there’s a slight sexual edge to at least some of that tension. But it seems that perhaps Harry’s make-Steve-jealous plan has some merit after all. 

“Don’t look now, but Alpha SEAL is watching....” Harry’s tone is amused and dry, but also pleased. Danny thinks if he were a cat he’d be purring.

He looks across the room, to where Steve’s standing in the doorway with Catherine. They’ve all changed out of their op clothes for Harry’s little celebration, but Steve looks like celebrating is the last thing on his mind. And the scary thing is, Danny knows that look. Not on Steve. But he’s seen it before. In nature. 

_Mine_.

Harry’s got balls—Danny knows this—really nice balls. But he evidently means to use them tonight, because he leans close to Danny, presses a soft but patently intimate kiss to Danny’s lips, and whispers “I’ll go get you a drink,” and slinks sexily away.

Leaving Steve staring. Not open mouthed. But clearly in disbelief, which honestly pisses Danny off a little. 

It’s Catherine who breaks the tension, by grabbing Steve by the arm and bringing him into the room. She’s dressed in clothes Danny doesn’t recognize. Things that look like what she’d normally wear, but... nicer. Her but more refined. It doesn’t take a detective to work out where they came from. 

“Well, these clothes are more comfy than my dress last night, but I’ll tell you what, Harry, you can shop for me anytime.”

“I happen to enjoy shopping for a woman who appreciates fine things,” Harry says as he hands Danny one of the two beers he’s holding, then resumes his place at Danny’s side—closer, if Danny’s not imaging it. “And men,” he adds. Though not clarifying if he means women who enjoy fine men, or if he likes shopping for men as well.

“Steve’s tux was a perfect fit, too,” Catherine says, choosing her meaning. “How do you do it?” She asks Harry, and her voice is only a little strained, and honestly, that might just be exhaustion. She looks like she could sleep for a week.

“Oh, I have an eye for a figure, it translates remarkably well to determine clothing fit. Steve is easy. And he wears a tux well. It’s too bad he’s so fond of lesser items of clothing,” Harry lets his eyes trail down over Steve’s imposing frame, draped carelessly in cargos and a tee that’s seen better days.

“Ahh, see, it’s not just me,” Danny grins daringly at Steve, who still is looking angry and possessive.

“Yeah, your opinions about my wardrobe are well known, buddy.” He turns to look at Harry, and Danny has a shiver of apprehension about where Steve’s going to go with this. “What would you dress Danny in? He thinks he doesn’t look good in a tux. Thinks he looks like a waiter.”

And leave it to Steve to remember that  _one_  time. To fixate on that, and not any of the times since then when Danny’s been more comfortable in his skin. No, of course the time Steve remembers is the one that stings the most. 

“Mmm,” muses Harry, luxuriantly taking Danny in, inch by inch. Danny, who is still pressed closely at his side. Danny who is pointedly no longer meeting Steve’s eyes. “Daniel... I see in linen. Crisp, fresh linen.” But he doesn’t stop there. A sly smile, then he adds, “Barefoot. On the patio out the back of my villa on the Mediterranean.”

Catherine ooohs, and even though he’s not looking, Danny sees the movement as Steve stiffens further. He pretends not to have noticed. He stays focused on Harry. Which isn’t difficult, as the thought is a compelling one.

“Yeah, I can see that too.” Danny joins in, as he controls, he hopes, the actual shiver that passes through him at the image. And the thought of Harry having that image. The thought of  _Steve_  having that image.

Because he’s watching Harry, he catches it when that trademark amused grin flashes brighter. “Well, then you should.” And, as though something wonderful has occurred to him, he adds. “Actually, you all should. It’s freshly stocked—as I was on my way there when our good man called me in.” He meets Catherine’s eyes. “I think you could all use a few days sunning yourselves and eating fine food.” Then he kind of shifts, looks down at his hands in his lap. Almost as though he’s gone shy. “You’d love my kitchen, Danny,” he says. And it’s soft, and it’s sweet, and Danny has the strangest feeling Harry’s thought it before. 

Catherine’s eyes, meanwhile, have lit up like a child’s at Christmas. “Are you serious?” She asks, nearly breathless, although again that’s partly her being tired. The smile Harry gives her is warm and welcoming but Danny sees there’s mischief there as well. His skin prickles briefly, but her enthusiasm is compelling. “I’ve heard about this place, guys. From my MI6 friends. We should totally go.”

Steve still hasn’t moved. His stiffness stands out. Vividly.

“You guys go,” he says. His voice isn’t bitter, it’s not strained. It’s maybe a tad angry. And very tired. But not the lest resentful. “This isn’t over for me yet,” Steve reminds them. “I’m gonna go get Greer.” Before anyone can protest, he pushes on. Insistent. “She’ll be on her own. This one will be just me. I did this. I end it.” 

The finality in Steve’s tone disturbs Danny, and he’s not alone in that assessment. He sees Catherine flinch. And he knows—and probably Steve would if he wasn’t being such a narrow minded ass right now—but Danny knows Cath’s going whether or not Steve asks. She catches Danny’s eye, and he nods at her. 

“You’re taking Catherine.”

“What? No. Danny, I need to do this on my own.”

“Shut up you stupid asshole. You need to  _not_  do this on your own, you absolute jerk. Cath’s got your back. Don’t be dumb about this. She’s going anyway. Better for you both to just acknowledge it. Okay? And if you get her killed being an ass, I’ll shoot you myself. Is that clear?”

Steve huffs out a laugh. And Danny almost thinks he will fight it, but he doesn’t. “Yeah. Alright. Catherine and I will go get Greer. Then we’ll meet you at Harry’s.” And it’s almost as though there’s a threat in there. A promise. Whatever’s got him doing the Alpha SEAL thing tonight. It’s getting put away for now. But it’ll be coming back out when he’s done. And Danny can’t help but shudder. Still. It’s the most hopeful he’s felt in over a month. 

“Wonderful,” Harry says smoothly, brushing all that tension easily aside. “I’ll arrange everything in the morning. But in the meantime, there’s food. There’s drink. And today was a success. So we are celebrating.” 

And everyone’s really too tired for it, but they eat more then they think they could, and drink rather less than they normally would. And everyone heads to bed early, even by Wade’s old man standards. 

Danny sleeps in Harry’s bed again that night. And all they do is sleep. But they do it wrapped in each other’s arms. And they’re not the arms Danny wants around him—and Danny’s aren’t the arms Harry misses. But Harry’s right. It’s comfort and it’s balm and it’s sleep. And when Danny notices in the morning that he smells like Harry, he realizes he likes that. 

  
After a quiet breakfast, everyone goes to pack. And while Steve confers with Harry and Catherine, Danny pulls Junior aside. Junior, Danny knows, feels the need to get back to the team, and he appreciates that. Because he can’t. Not yet. And of course he feels bad about that. But Junior won’t hear it.

“Of course you need to stay,” Junior says. “I’ll go back, we can hold the fort for now. You take the time you need—the time  _he_  needs. Don’t bring him back till he’s fit for it, okay?”

Danny smiles grimly, but nods. “Yeah, fair point. Thanks, Joon.”

And to make things simpler, Wade and Junior take off on their own, leaving the others to get Steve and Cath set up for Greer. Which they do without much fuss, and then Harry takes himself and Danny off to what he calls his favorite home. It doesn’t take Danny long to see why.

They get to the house by boat. And although it’s probably unfair to call it a villa, it’s more than what Danny would call a house. It certainly looks grand, from down here at the water’s edge. Harry docks the speed boat (one of those nice little Riviera ones that look more like race cars than boats, and what is it about men Danny’s attracted to and their propensity to love fast vehicles?) then offers Danny his hand in getting on to dry land. And unmoving ground beneath his feet is something Danny is exceedingly grateful to feel. Airplane (if you can call the old cargo plane that) to helicopter, helicopter to boat.... It’s not exactly a recipe for Danny’s ideal trip.

“I’m not moving from this rock for at least three days,” Danny declares once he’s stopped swaying.

“I hope you’ll stay longer than that,” Harry whispers as he pulls Danny into a totally undemanding kiss, and not out of anything other than wanting to just enjoy it, Danny lets him.

Then they grab their bags off the dock and head up to the house, which warms considerably as Danny nears. Yes, it’s that lofty kind of rustic, pale stone, baked in hot sunlight. You can feel the heat seeping into your bones just by looking at it. There’s a courtyard around which individual rooms center. Kitchen, open on the one side, outdoor oven—which Harry anticipated Danny’s desire to try out, as it’s already going, lit no doubt by whatever invisible person has presumably fluffed the pillows and made sure all the things they could need or want are in place.

Starting with a lovely bottle of rosé which Harry opens and brings out to the stone table and benches beside a tree that might be an olive? Danny’s not sure. Harry’s brought cheese and a loaf of bread as well, and it isn’t instant relaxation, this luxurious treat in this romantic setting. But it’s dang close, and when Harry holds out his hand as the sun’s getting low in the sky, Danny takes it willingly.

Harry’s room is simple but elegant, crisp, high-thread-count sheets, enough pillows without needing to toss any aside, a huge window out to the water below, and soft throw rugs on the cool stone floors.

“Why do you ever leave?” Danny asks, as he takes it in, Harry moving behind him, a comforting presence, smelling clean and slightly spicy as if by magic.

“Wait till you see the bath....” Harry purrs against Danny’s ear, and opens the door to a cozy room with a huge stone tub, currently filling with steaming water and lavender scented foam.

“Do you have house elves?” Danny can’t help it, the words come without thinking.

They get him a sly smirk from Harry, but no answer other than to point out the towels, candles if he wants, and to say that the oven will be heated and ready when he’s done, and whatever he wants to make... or Harry will whip up a seafood and pasta dish if he’d rather not cook....

“It’s the least I can do,” Danny says simply.

And Harry leaves Danny there beside the tempting bath, shaking his head in bemusement—half disappointed Harry hasn’t planned on joining him, half glad to have some time to himself.

Because of course half of his mind is with Steve and Catherine. Wherever they’ve gone—not telling anyone their plan, but Danny sensing from Harry that he knows, and has someone in place to be back up to Cath’s back up. He’s clearly enjoyed playing the orchestrator in all of this. And that’s not stopped now the op is technically over. Danny’s not sure what to make of it, but he does like that Steve listens to Harry. Even when he won’t listen to anyone else. He’s hoping that comes in handy when it’s all done and Steve needs to  _stop_. He’s counting on it.

Danny stays in till the water’s turning cold and the swirl of his mind has dulled into a vague blur. He finds a pair of dark blue linen pants and a white linen shirt awaiting him on the bed when he re-enters the room, and he’s not the least surprised to find they fit perfectly.

He finds Harry, similarly dressed, sitting in a leather chair by the fire in the living room, sipping a glass of something milky white and medicinal smelling. He points to the kitchen table where a bottle of red is breathing. 

“That’s probably ready by now, or you can join me in a pastis, if you like.”

“Do you always live like this?”

“What, civilized? Alas, no. But I like to make up for the rest of the time when I can. Balance, my dear Danny, is the rule of the game.”

Danny pours himself a glass of the red, which is fruity and rich and at a guess very, very expensive. Once he’s seated next to Harry by the pleasingly hot fire, Harry continues.

“It’s why I wanted you all to come here. Steve and Catherine... they’ll take a while to recover, you and I both know that. But there are some things that help more than others. I’m sure they have ways they know work, though I’m not certain Steve has any idea what the best path is for him right now. He seems... lost.”

Danny sighs into his wine, then takes a slow sip, savoring the way the tannins feel drying in his mouth. “Junior made me promise not to bring him back till he’s at least a little more himself. But honestly, I don’t know what that will take.”

“Don’t you?”

Harry’s tone is low and kind and it hurts Danny’s heart because the implication is so fucking clear. Harry knows what would work for  _him_... and at a guess, he’s going to keep himself from taking it, even though it’s sitting right next to him. 

Danny’s been arguing with himself over that, in the back of his mind, for the past two days. He hasn’t come to a decision. Hasn’t wanted to. Wants to not have to decide anything, frankly. Wants—no, _needs_ —for things to just happen. Which for him is a very, very strange feeling. Because he may give Steve a hard time about being controlling, but Danny’s not overly fond of being in unexpected situations himself. But sometimes, sometimes he does enjoy being swept away. And maybe this is the first time he’s felt the possibility of that, of that freeing release... with the safety net of an end date. 

Which is possibly why he sets his wine glass down, walks the two steps over to Harry, stands above him holding out his hand, and pulls him to into a kiss that’s considerably more insistent than Harry’s had been earlier. 

“I don’t want to talk about heartbreak and loss tonight. Tonight I want to make the most of what’s right here in front of me.”

And Harry’s twinkling eyes say he agrees. 

They make dinner together. Harry makes a fantastic seafood pasta while Danny entertains himself making garlic and herb flatbreads in the outdoor stone oven. And they cook with wine, and they drink wine, and they kiss in between. And it’s easy and it’s comfortable, and there’s not passion behind it, it’s more an acknowledged attraction, acknowledged friendship. And Danny can’t honestly tell if it’ll lead them to bed, and he doesn’t know if he wants that or not, but  _this_  he does want. This he needs. Comfort and presence and understanding. Touch. Warmth.

They walk on the beach later. By moon light. And they don’t hold hands, but they bump against each other, and there’s a hamper a ways down on the sand. A blanket, a bottle of prosecco, some strawberries, and there’s a small fire just flickering to life. And they lie on their backs and look at the stars, and their hands rub together, gently, comfortingly, until the fire dies down. 

And they both know they’re thinking of other people. And they both know that’s okay.

They do end up in bed together, and it’s just hands and mouths, and it’s more taking care of each other, more doing what’s needed, than it is truly making love. And that’s okay too. When they kiss, it’s sweet and it’s soft and it’s understanding, and surprisingly tender.

“I don’t know how long they’ll be,” Harry whispers after, running his fingers lightly through Danny’s hair. “So I want to say this now. You are, all of you, welcome to stay as long as you need. And I might have to leave for a bit, but you’ll be taken care of, no matter what. But, Danny. You are welcome to come back any time. You will always be welcome here.” 

And the way he says  _here_ , Danny knows. He doesn’t just mean the villa. He means his bed. And Danny’s grateful for that, which he hopes he makes clear with the way he kisses Harry.

“ _Thank you_ ,” he says as they fall asleep, listening to the waves crash on the rocks below.

  
Next morning when Steve and Catherine arrive, they’re sitting out at the stone table again, looking across the water, basking in the sun like—well, like seals. They’ve made the most of their morning, lingering in bed but doing nothing much more than making each other feel seen. Tracing attentive fingers along sore muscles, placing soft kisses on bruises and scars. And it’s soothing and it’s as medicinal as the anise flavored liquor Harry drank the evening before, and they’re glad for it. But they know what it means. And what it doesn’t.

Harry made them breakfast of bread and cheese and fruit and very large cups of coffee with hot milk, and the remnants are still on the table when Cath crashes thankfully at Danny’s side, leaning against him as though she would take his solar warmth, saying “Thank you for making him take me,” and kissing him on the cheek in a way that tells him everything he needs to know, though he’d guessed anyway. She takes the last slice of bread from Danny’s plate, sucks on a strawberry, and looks longingly at his mostly empty coffee.

“I’ll go make more,” Harry says easily, patting Steve, who was several steps behind Cath and looks shell-shocked, on the back as he heads to the kitchen.

When Steve makes it to the table, Cath’s perked up enough to decide she should help Harry out with the food, and stops long enough to whisper something to Steve before following Harry up the steps.

Steve grimaces as he sits, though Danny’s not sure how much that’s physical injury, and how much it’s just all finally crashing down on him. Now it’s over. Now the adrenaline fades. 

He meets Danny’s eyes squarely. And it’s the first time he’s done that since this all began. 

“You were right to make me take Cath,” he says. And he deflates a little more. “I couldn’t do it. Greer pulled a gun on me, and I.... Cath was right there, she knew it, she knew I would have....” He trails off, breaking over what he can’t admit.

Danny doesn’t have a problem saying the words. He saw confirmation of it in Steve’s eyes the second he looked. “You’d have let her kill you.”

“You knew.”  

Danny nods, just barely. But Steve sees. “It’s why I made you take Cath.”

“Why not you?” It’s nearly a whisper. And he sounds hurt, like somehow, some part of him had wanted it to be Danny.

“Because Catherine needed it. She needed to be the one.” Danny sighs. “And you needed that too.”

“How’d you...?”

Danny shrugs. “It’s hard to miss, the two of you fit so well. But Harry saw it too. Knew you needed to do this together. For Joe.”

And Steve chokes. Danny’s not sure if he’s cried yet, or if it’s been all blood and planning. He won’t cry now. But soon. First, though, food and rest. And as if on cue, Harry and Catherine reappear with bread and cheese and fruit and coffee and some hardboiled eggs and dried meats. And as usual with them, Steve and Catherine revive with food and drink, but then start to fade as the exhaustion really sets in, and Harry takes them back to the house to show them where to clean up and rest.

While he does, Danny tidies and lingers in the kitchen, planning a meal for the evening. Comfort food, Danny style, with a Harry twist. A simple roast, pasta with a rustic sauce, and more of those flatbreads, as the fire in the oven is still going. Harry comes up behind him, in the kitchen, and he holds him, and Danny allows himself unwind into it, letting Harry take the weight he’s finding so hard to hold up.

“Thank you. For all of this. I could never....”

“Don’t finish that thought. What you both helped me with....” He shakes his head, and Danny knows he was right. Harry feels indebted, or entangled, or... something. With both of them. Steve will feel it now, with Harry. But he won’t likely be as civilized in his attempts at repaying that debt as Harry has been. 

Danny meanwhile feels like the balance in the middle. “Let’s just say we all get it, and leave it there,” he says quietly, and kisses Harry softly on the lips. “Still. Thank you. For being wonderful.”

“Same to you,” Harry replies, and takes Danny for a walk on the beach while Steve and Catherine hopefully sleep.

They all gather in the kitchen later, while Danny cooks. Catherine slips herself in as sous chef, though mostly she steals his ingredients and drinks a little too much wine, but it leaves Harry free to play gracious host to Steve, who has re-energized enough to inquire about the house’s defenses—of which there are naturally many. And maybe he’s just being practical, maybe he’s still too much in op mode, but Harry intersperses it with wine and cheese and olives, and Danny figures it’s better than Steve sitting and moping, so he takes it for what it’s worth.

Besides. He enjoys having Catherine in the kitchen. Until, that is, she tells him she’ll be leaving the next day. He worries it’s too abrupt—for her and for Steve as well—and he tries to convince her to stay.

“You need time to heal too, you know. You can do that here. With us.”

She smiles, and it’s sad but gracious. She shakes her head, but there’s reluctance. Matched with resolve.

“Thanks Danny,” she says, voice probably shakier than she’d like. “But I need to go lick my wounds on my own. Besides. I’m part of his wounds now. He’ll keep them open if I stay around.  _I’ll_  keep them open. I need to leave, for him to start to heal. I think he knows that.” She straightens up, and Danny recognizes the move for what it signifies. “It’s up to you take care of your boy now okay? He needs you.”

He sighs, and he’d put his hand on her arm, but he knows what that feels like. Knows how much it stings. Instead he looks her in the eye and corrects her wording. “I’ll take care of  _our_  boy.”

She flinches, but so fast he nearly misses it. “Nah,” she says, voice wavering. “He’s just yours now. I can tell.” She swallows, and smiles, and it’s brighter. “ _And it’s about damn time, too_.” And she kisses him on the cheek, then turns back to the food she’s not really helping with, and he pours her more wine which she drinks gratefully.

It’s still warm out and light, so they eat under the tree, and it’s like a scene from a movie, unless you look closely and notice the hurt and the tension. But the outward appearance is of friends on vacation, and maybe you would have a hard time working out who was going to end up in which bed, but it’s France so maybe you wouldn’t look too closely. They all drink a little too much, and they end up sitting on the fluffy hearth rug in front of the living room fire, and Danny’s mind flashes unhelpfully back to his thoughts about that only a few days ago—though it feels like so much longer. But there’s chocolate and there’s nuts and there’s more wine, and for a handful of hours, it’s very, very nice.

As Catherine missed the tour before, she asks Harry to take her for a  _stroll around the grounds_  as she puts it, and Harry gladly obliges.

“Miss Rollins,” he says, bowing slightly, that warm smirk playing at his lips.

“Mr. Langford,” she says coyly, offering him her hand.

He takes it and kisses it, smirk fading into something genuinely sweet.

“Ohhh,” she gasps. “A real gentleman. You two Neanderthals could learn something here,” she calls over her shoulder to them.

“Hey!” Steve yelps, mock offended.

“Oh go back to the primitive cave you crawled out of,” she scolds. But there’s nothing but affection in her tone, and she winks at Danny as she lets Harry lead her out for a moonlit walk.

He watches Steve for a while. Trying to get a read on what to say,  _if_  to say... push or fall back. But Harry’s right. Steve’s just  _lost_. So he eases in as gently as he can, ready to retreat in an instant if need be.

“I know it’s hard to let me back in,” he begins. “But I’m not going anywhere. Whatever you need, however long it takes. I’ll be here. Whenever you need me.”

Steve breathes heavily for a bit. Then takes a pained breath. And very much like he’s diving in, he starts to talk. “Danny...  _shit_. One of the last things Joe said to me.  _Don’t wait as long as I did to find love_. And... you know he’s why I asked Cath out in the first place, why I moved our relationship from friends to something more. And I will  _never_  regret that because what it did was make us better friends. And we are better as friends. But at first I thought he meant her... and then I realized. He meant you. God, Danny. He knew. I thought I had that well hidden. But he knew. And now I don’t know what to do. How am I supposed to live knowing I’m why he’s dead? My heart’s not even broken, it’s... it feels like it’s not even  _there_  anymore.” He pauses. Takes Danny’s hand. Holds it up to Danny’s own chest. “But I know where I left a really big piece of my heart, a very long time ago. And I think that maybe... if you—” his voice cracks, and he takes a shaky breath. “Maybe I can find it again... maybe you can help me....”

Danny breathes in. A soft, nearly soundless gasp. “Steve....” And he’s not sure what he wants to say, but he’s very afraid of Steve rushing into this. Like this. Desperate, broken. For the wrong reasons. And then regretting it.

But Steve hears Danny’s hesitation, and immediately misinterprets it. He drops Danny’s hand.

“I missed my chance, didn’t I. I’ve seen the way Harry is with you.” He lets out a breath so heavy, Danny’s surprised he doesn’t deflate completely. “He’s a great guy, Danny.”

“Yeah, babe. He’s amazing. But shit, Steven. He’s not you.”

“I wouldn’t want to—What?” And Steve’s not slept much in a month, and he’s battered and beaten and so bruised, but now he looks dizzy at Danny’s words.

“Look. He knows. Okay?” Danny takes Steve’s hand in his. Puts it back on his chest and holds it there. “He  _knows_. He was comforting me because he knew I needed it, and  _he_  needed it, and yeah, he’s wanted it, and I have too—so we took it. Comfort. Warmth. Affection. From each other, while we could. But he knows and I know, babe.... It’s you, it’s always you.”

Steve looks amazed. And he leans in so close Danny can feel his breaths, sharp and jagged and uncertain. Danny closes the distance, and as their lips press, Steve lets out a sound that’s hurt and hungry and relieved and so much more. And Danny totally knows what he means, and he kisses him back like his life depends on it.

By the time Cath and Harry return, and yes, it’s occurred to Danny there’s surveillance, because they don’t come back till Steve and Danny have separated, allowed their erections to fade, taken some good deep breaths, and decided they’ll sleep in separate beds tonight. Which Danny immediately regrets, and from the look on Steve’s face he does too.

Catherine drinks the rest of her wine, pops one last piece of chocolate, kisses Steve on the head, ruffles Danny’s hair, and kisses Harry somewhat lingeringly on the cheek. 

“‘Night, boys.” And she heads sleepily off to bed. 

Harry looks back and forth between Danny and Steve, and he’s trying to get a read on how far they’ve gotten... if more talking needs to happen, if they want to be in the same room tonight. Danny tries to give him a little shake of the head, to tell him  _not yet_... but either Harry doesn’t get it, or decides he disagrees. Either way, he smiles warmly at them. “I’ll put your stuff in the room next to Steve’s. Stay up as late as you like, gents. I’m glad you’re here.”

Danny’s heart clenches a little, and there’s part of him that wants to go keep Harry warm for one more night. Steve reads it. Which, actually, surprises Danny.

“You could, you know,” Steve whispers in Danny’s ear when Harry’s left the room.

Danny turns to face him. Looks into those hazel eyes with as much fierceness as he can manage which is probably not much to be honest. “Not now we’ve admitted this. I’d sooner sleep on your floor to be near you than to.... Steve. I get it’s too soon. But I really would sleep better on the floor in your room.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Steve rasps out, and he’s so torn, Danny sees it. He pulls him close, holds him so tight. And he starts to cry. “Don’t you be stupid too.”

“Hey... hey. Joe wasn’t being stupid. You weren’t being stupid. No one was being anything other than who they are. So stop that right now. It’s okay to be upset, it’s okay to mourn all that you’ve lost. But don’t go thinking it’s your fault.”

And Danny knows Steve’s got a lot to get out, a lot he’s been holding in, a lot that’s kept him going for the past month, a lot that he has to now let go of. And he knows it will mostly happen at night, it always does. So when the crying subsides after not very long, Danny knows it’s faded towards sleep, and rather than upset the calm that’s descending, he adjusts himself more comfortably against the chair that’s behind him, lets Steve fall at his side, and rubbing his arm gently, watches as he sleeps, head pillowed in Danny’s lap, soft snores sniffling at the remainder of his tears. And it’s progress. And for that he is thankful. He’s also more than a little thankful for Harry when he wakes later to find the fire’s been stoked, and pillows and blankets have been tucked around them both, bottles of water set at their sides.

Harry really is the most wonderful of hosts.

  
They’re awakened in the morning by the smell of coffee brewing, and familiar voices drifting over from the kitchen.  

“I think they’re awake,” Cath whispers to Harry, and when Danny looks, he’s surprised by their closeness. He shouldn’t be, he guesses, but he is. She has her arm tucked at his side like she had for their walk the night before, and perhaps they repeated the walk by the light of day. They both look far more awake than Danny feels. “Shall we feed them, do you think?”

“Mmm,” Harry nods, looking down at her with a warm, sweet smile that eases Danny’s heart. “Yes, I think that would be the civilized thing to do.”

“Can you make an omelet? Steve really likes his eggs in the morning.”

“I’ll make the eggs if you can make pancakes? I know Danny favors those, especially if you put something sweet in....”

Steve’s chuckling against Danny’s side, having sat himself up, and wrapped himself around Danny as though he’s afraid he might get up and leave him cold. “They think they know us so well.”

“Yeah, actually,” Cath says, and it’s affectionately exasperated, but Danny hears the warmth beneath the waver in her tone. “We do know you boys a little too well. So shush, and let us take care of things.”

“Get some air?” Danny asks, having glanced Steve over and thinking he looks a little shaky.

“Good idea, Danno,” Steve says, and pushes himself to standing, and pulls Danny up and into his arms. So, lack of physical strength not an issue, Danny notes. It’ll be the emotions. Those are always what hit Steve hardest, because they’re what he’s least used to dealing with. And as though he can read Danny’s thoughts, or just the whirr of his mind, Steve adds “Stop analyzing me, buddy,” tugs him closer, and with his arm around him, leads them out to the table already soaking in the morning light.

Steve sits facing out to the water, letting the sun wash over him like it can burn some of the hurt out, which, in fairness, it probably can. There’s something so magical about the sun here, and Danny knows he complains about the sun in Hawaii, but it’s different here. Maybe it’s the dryness of the stone, the rockiness of the soil. Or just the absence of the rainy shards of mountains and continual rainbows. It’s more elemental here, somehow. It feels a fitting place to heal, and he hopes he’s not being fanciful when he thinks it’s already helping Steve.

Cath brings them down coffee just then, and it looks very much to him that it’s helped her. She smiles warmly at him—and Steve’s still got his eyes closed, so she nods in his direction and mouths  _much better_. And, okay. He doesn’t mind the confirmation, because if anyone knows Steve like he does, it’s her.

“Thanks, Cath,” he replies, and he could mean the coffee, which Steve can no doubt smell by now, so it’s a safe reply, but she knows what he means.

When she’s gone back up and Danny turns to face out to sea, hands a mug to Steve, Steve opens his eyes, sets his mug down, and pulls Danny against him, almost too tightly, but careful not to spill Danny’s coffee. “What’s she said to you?”

Danny sips from the hot, milky beverage, savoring the internal warmth as it augments the external—from the sun, and also from Steve. He adds hot food and drink to his list of helpful things, then scolds Steve gently. “Uh-uh, that is between her and me, Steven.”

Steve huffs out a sharp breath, but then sighs. “Fair enough,” he admits, and then closes his eyes again, but keeps his hold on Danny, loosening it only a little.

They stay like that till Harry and Cath bring the food down, and they eat in easy silence, enjoying the sun, the sound of the waves, but the quiet, the lack of sounds that haunt them all in different ways... it’s soothing, it’s healing, and so is the company—and once more, Danny finds he wishes she would stay a little longer. 

Turns out Harry agrees, as he announces that he was able to get Cath transport to where she needs to go, but not until tomorrow afternoon, so they have one more day together, and Danny’s watching her when Harry says it, so he sees her eye roll and headshake and knows Harry is scheming again. At a guess, if Danny or Steve had tried it they’d be getting an earful. But Harry seems to have gotten away with it, and frankly that doesn’t surprise Danny in the least.

“Harry and I made breakfast, so you two can do lunch while Harry takes me out on the boat, then Harry and Danny will make dinner.”

Danny guesses they worked that plan out with purpose—time for Danny and Steve to be alone, and some time for her to be with Steve. And he’s glad for it. For both their sakes.  

Harry’s evidently been shopping again, because Cath shows up ready for their boating trip looking every inch the perfect French vacationer, hair pulled back in a red and white polka dotted band, huge sunglasses hiding her dark eyes, and wrapped for warmth in a fluffy white scarf. 

Harry’s got a hamper packed, and he winks at Danny, mouthing  _don’t worry about lunch_ , and they’re off, like a perfect couple on a Riviera adventure.

So he and Steve make out next to the fire, and they walk among the trees down by the land side of the house. They sit and they talk, some stories of Joe, some stories of Steve, some stories of Cath. And they hold hands. And when they get hungry Danny makes them sandwiches, and they sit in the sun, and they fall asleep on the sofa, and they make more coffee.

And when Harry and Cath return, looking like they’ve had a splendid time, and her arm is in his again, and laughter rumbles deep in Steve’s chest as she kisses them both on the cheek saying sorry for being gone so long, hope they managed to entertain themselves, and Danny realizes how smart Harry is. Because seeing Catherine happy is helping to ease Steve’s burden. He can feel it—and when he sees Harry watching, he knows Harry can too.

Cath changes into more new clothes from Harry, and it occurs to Danny that’s part of his plan as well. Because everything she had with her will have been tainted by torture and blood and grief, so to have clothes only associated with France and sunshine, well that’s its own kind of healing, and Harry, bless him, knows that, probably very, very well.

Harry sends Cath and Steve out to the stone table with a bottle of wine and a plate of cheese and nuts, and he and Danny set about making dinner, and Danny knows Harry and food well enough by now to know he’s got an agenda here as well. It’s a bright, light dish—chicken and citrus and olives, and Danny makes a creamy pasta and they tear chunks of baguette for sopping up extra sauce. It’s fresh, it’s tactile, it’s comfort, but it’s geared to be festive and playful. And it works. It’s almost like a bond is being formed, between all of them... not of the op, not of the sorrow behind it, the understanding... but one that’s something inherently more positive, something hopeful and of a different flavor than the bonds they already share, and maybe it will only exist for these few moments, but it means something nonetheless. And even as he’s in it, this here and now, Danny knows. This lasts. This will be remembered.  

They all walk on the beach after, and this time Harry works the magic himself, bringing a bottle of bubbly and glasses, and Steve lights a fire, and they toast each other and the stars, and Danny jokes it’s too bad they don’t have marshmallows, and Cath says  _Next time_  like it’s a promise, and he kisses her on the cheek, whispering  _That’s a deal_. And Steve has to lower his head, and Danny knows he’s blinking back tears, and Harry slaps Steve on the back, and it’s just... perfect.

The next morning there are hugs all around, but no tears. And after a leisurely breakfast that Steve and Danny make for Harry and Cath, Harry takes Catherine to her appointed transportation, saying they have a couple stops to make first, and Danny’s fairly certain he means to take her shopping.

Steve and Danny find themselves drawn back down to the beach, and there’s this inevitable moment of how long do we stay, now she’s gone. And Danny’s really worried that Steve will fight taking it slow.

“It’s not our beach....” He points out, not as though it’s a flaw, more just as an observation that he’s not entirely certain what to make of.

“Yeah,” Danny acknowledges. “But I think maybe that’s what you need for a while....” And his words are more tentative than he’d like. Partly because he’s still a little unsure of most things—no longer of everything, but most. And partly because he’s not going to force this on Steve. As much as part of him might say he should or think he might have to. Danny needs, or wants, maybe, for Steve to choose to do this. And maybe he feels a little too caught up in that, in the importance of Steve knowing right now that he needs to rest, needs to let this all go slowly and carefully and with support.... So he feels a wave of uneasiness when Steve draws a breath to reply.

“That’s what I was thinking,” Steve says, and his tone is warm, and his smile is amused—probably because Danny’s mouth might be hanging open just a little. “Don’t look so shocked, buddy. I know I need it. But more than that, I know I need some time with you before... before.” He swallows. “Before we go home.” And, probably Danny should have seen that, anticipated that. Because Steve’s house is where this all started for him. As if there hasn’t been enough bloodshed within those walls.

Danny nods, and he’s not ready to think about that yet, think about all the many things going home will mean,  _would_  mean even without this life changing thing they’ve added to it. “Me too,” he says instead. And they sit watching the waves, which they’ve spent countless hours doing back home, and it feels in some ways the same, and in many others, so completely different. And maybe it’s fitting, that this change takes place near the water, but not  _their_  water. It feels important somehow.

Eventually they head in for lunch, and they’ve just finished when Harry returns with fresh supplies and a slightly deflated appearance.

Steve catches it at the same time Danny does, and he guesses why. “You’re going to miss her, aren’t you?”

And Harry looks a little caught out. As though maybe he didn’t expect it. He smiles, and it’s slightly strained, and surprisingly full of emotion.

“She reminds me of Joanna,” he says finally. Swallowing with effort, he tries to force his grin a little brighter.

“Oh, babe,” Danny sighs, and pulls him into a hug, dragging Steve along with him, and they stand there together for a moment, in the acknowledgement of his loss, and their connection to it. Then Danny backs away and goes to unpack Harry’s provisions and make them all something to lighten the mood, leaving Steve and Harry chatting softly.

Days pass like this. Food and drink and companionship. Sleeping late, long walks, naps in the shade, leisurely lunches in the sun, dinner by moonlight.... And for Steve and Danny, falling asleep in front of the fire to whispered conversations, some amount of tears, and progressively more kisses, till several nights in Steve stands as Danny’s drifting off.

“Come sleep in my bed. Please.”

And all they do is sleep. But they do it together. And in the morning when they wake in the expected state, they take their time with each other. And it’s awkward, and it’s a little bit weird, because it’s  _them_. But in the end it’s desperate and needy and shockingly good for just hands, and it shifts something because they can’t seem to move very far apart after that. They keep finding themselves touching needlessly and holding hands under the table and pressing legs against each other and standing close enough to lean into one another.

And Harry watches it all with warmth and encouragement and without regret, which Danny admires because even he’s had his moments where he’s missed the scent of Harry on his skin, missed the depth of heat in those blue eyes, missed the softness of his touch.

Steve’s rougher and more jagged and more desperate and still so broken. But his need for Danny is different. It’s deep like a bottomless pit, and Danny thinks they may never find the end of it. But it matches in the strangest way his own need for Steve, which runs through every inch of his being, affecting him in ways he’s never known another person could. They’ve always read each other amazingly well. But this is something different. His very cells respond to Steve in a way that’s completely out of his control. And it takes over everything, and yet... he’s unaffected, because he’s still utterly himself. Which he wasn’t with Harry—and he’d known that, and been okay with it because he’d known it was only for a while. But with Steve, he’s  _more_  himself. Like he’s not holding back any longer. As if part of him had been secret. Hidden, without Steve. And now it’s fully on display.

Harry sees it too.

One night, while they’re cooking some fish Steve had caught, they talk over wine while Steve showers (because Danny refused to let him in the house smelling like fish guts).

“You’re blooming,” Harry says, as he toasts Danny with the soft floral pink of the rosé. “Both of you. Just like I knew you would.”

And it’s almost how he must feel about his op orchestrations. That he somehow orchestrated this relationship. And it’s still new, and it’s tentative, but he’s looking on proudly, admiringly, and—somewhat shockingly to Danny—with absolutely no envy. And when Danny says so, Harry smiles a slightly sad version of his warm, amused smile.

“How could I be, when it’s so obvious. Always has been obvious. You two are meant to be. I’m honored to be witness to this. Truly. And of course I miss you in my bed, Daniel. I always will. And I’m delighted to have the memories I do of you here. I’ll always treasure them. But I treasure this too, because it never seemed right, the two of you not being together.” He smirks a little. “And I’m pleased to take a little credit for it. You can thank me later.”

Danny’s pretty sure he and Steve will be thanking Harry for many years to come, but for now, he settles for a kiss on Harry’s cheek, and the soft admission that he will treasure his time in Harry’s bed as well.   

“Thank you for that, and now we should probably start dinner, or Steve will wonder what we’ve been up to.” And he winks, and pours them more wine, and watches, as Danny sets about making dinner.

“Is it everything you thought it would be?” Danny asks, laughingly, knowing Harry’s thinking about having imagined Danny in his kitchen like this—in linen and barefoot.

“And more,” Harry replies, lifting his glass.

And so is the fish, which they finish off with more of the wine, and while Harry offers to go make them something sweet to end the meal with, Steve cuddles closer to Danny on the hard stone bench, which is a skill to be admired for sure. He nuzzles against Danny’s neck in a way that reminds Danny of being lovingly mauled by a dog, and it’s absolutely fitting for Steve and he loves it. He’s letting himself totally into it when Steve pulls back as though he’s just remembered something.

“Harry’s gonna check up on her for me,” he says, and his tone is relieved, but also something a little more, and it makes Danny smile.

“Yeah she’ll love that,” he says, on a chuckle.

Steve shrugs. “If he brings her clothes, I think she might....” And Danny knows he has a point.

Danny cuddles back against Steve, who’s started absently fingering Danny’s soft blue linen shirt. Another Harry acquisition. 

“I’m sorry I shut you out, Danny. I needed... I needed you to not be part of that. I needed to be able to come back to you once I was....” He ends on a sigh, unable or unwilling to put words to it just yet.

“She knows, you know,” Danny offers. “That she’s part of that now. Part of the wound, part of the hurt. She said that’s why she needed to leave. So you could heal.”

He feels Steve swallow, hears the harsh breath he takes. “Yeah, I think we’re both gonna need to not see each other for a while. But Danny, she’s always going to have a place in my life. With all we’ve been through.”

Danny smiles. And he sits back to meet Steve’s eyes. To assure him it’s okay. “I know. It couldn’t be any other way. I’m glad you had her with you for that month.... Yeah, okay, I wished it could have been me. But I understand why it needed to be her. I really do.”

Steve smiles back, and it’s a little bit sad at first, but it turns warmer. “And I’m glad you had Harry. If I could pick someone for you—other than me of course... it’d be him.”

“Oh yeah? Mmmm.... well he is very attentive. And a very good kisser....”

“Is he now? Well, maybe I need to find out what I’m up against.”

Despite his words, Steve’s clearly going nowhere. He lifts his hand to Danny’s face, and leans in for a kiss, and right before he gives in, Danny whispers “I’ll give you  _up against_....”

And Steve’s laugh is a huff of breath against Danny’s lips. “That better be a promise.”

Later, after a simple dessert of fruit soaked in a sweet, nectar-like dessert wine, topped with freshly whipped cream, they head to bed where they take their time with more than just hands, and they’re growing bolder in their exploration of each other’s bodies, but there’s still this uneasiness, this awkwardness to it, overcome in the end with a sweep of nearly uncontrollable emotion and desperation and need and want and desire and that swell of panic that comes from feelings of loss and might-nots and could-have-beens. And in the swirl of all that after, before it fully fades back to a manageable dull hurt and ache and sorrow, Steve leans on an elbow, looks Danny in the eyes, and says, simply, “It’s time. We have to go home now.”

And, ohh, Danny’s not ready. He’s never going to be ready, though. And he knows Steve’s right. With a slow breath out, he nods. “Yeah. I know.”

And they don’t really sleep much that night, and eventually they give up, and go for a walk, just as it’s barely getting light.

“This has been nice, though,” Steve says, and he’s got Danny’s hand in his, and he’s rubbing his thumb along the side of Danny’s, and it feels thoughtful. And that makes Danny feel just a little bit tingly all over, because  _thoughtful_  and  _Steve_  are not two words he would typically put together. “Maybe we can come back sometime.” And there’s something about the way he says it that just goes directly somewhere deep in Danny’s heart, and he just can’t.... He stops in his tracks, with a rough tug on Steve’s hand, and pulls him into a kiss that’s just as hungry, just as needy, just as desperate as their first. Steve chuckles when Danny lets him go. “Yeah, I thought you’d like that.” And he presses a kiss to Danny’s hand, and then leads him further along the path. Leaving Danny a little stunned and speechless, which Steve doesn’t fail to catch. “What? Harry’s not the only one who can be a gentleman. Just you wait and see, Danny Williams. I’ll surprise you yet.”

Danny slides his arm through Steve’s, resting his head against Steve’s shoulder, and he smiles, huffs an amused breath, and whispers “I’m sure you will.”

Harry of course says he’s sorry to see them leave, but over breakfast he hints he’s planned to be in Hawaii soon, and he makes it clear they’re welcome here any time—even if he’s not around. And then he offers, of course, to fly them home, which considering Danny’s here without his passport, they gratefully accept. It turns into Steve angling to get Harry to let him fly this time, at least part of the way, and Harry, sweetly, looks to Danny for confirmation before agreeing.

“Just tell me you have shields on that thing,” Danny mumbles, shaking his head once more over the men he adores and the fast vehicles they love—and speaking of, they decide to do lunch out on the boat, and Harry takes them to this tiny rock with the most perfect, sheltered picnic spot, and they feast on dried spiced meats and rustic bread and tangy olive spread and more of that addictive rosé. And Danny thinks this needs to be a regular thing they do. It really does. 

Dinner that night is a simple affair. Danny tosses some rough pizza type things in the stone oven, while Steve checks over its construction as though working out if he couldn’t build one at home, and Harry makes a seafood stew that smells like the sea, and sunshine, and Danny’s probably had too much wine by this point because he swears it smells like hope, and promise, and yeah, healing. And he catches Harry’s hand, while Steve’s off prowling the woodpile to add more flames to the fire he’s lit in the pit near the table.

“Harry. Thank you. I mean it. None of this....” He shakes his head against the constricting of his throat, and the wetness threatening at the corners of his eyes. “ _None_  of this would have gone how it did without you. I can’t ever... yeah.” He gives up and wipes his eyes, and Harry pulls him into a one-armed side hug, kissing him on the head as he does.

“Just as much, Danny, none of it would be anything without  _you_. Please don’t ever forget that.”

Steve ambles back into the kitchen just then, and stands gazing at them, his expression soft and admiring.

Harry gives a slightly ragged version of his usual warm chuckle, squeezes Danny one last time, and lets him go. “You’re a very lucky man, Steve McGarrett.”

“Don’t I know it, buddy. Don’t I know it.”

They stay up late, sitting by the fire Steve’s built. And they drink hot toddies Harry makes with some local honey liquor and lavender and cream, and Danny feels like Harry, like this place, like the sun and the heat from the stones of the house, has all seeped into their skin, into their blood, into their bones. And it’s done something to them all. And he thinks he won’t know what that is till they’ve left. But he thinks it’s something very special indeed.

They both sleep soundly that night. And everything looks different in the morning. And as Harry lifts the plane into the sky, and Danny watches the coastline vanish, his thoughts turn to home, and to what awaits them, and he has no idea at all how this will go. But none of that matters. And Steve looks back at him, and smiles, and asks, simply, “Ready?” 

And Danny thinks, yeah. He’s ready to spend the rest of his life figuring this out. So he nods, and around the lump in his throat, he smiles. “Yeah, babe. I’m ready.”

And Steve grins. “Alright. Then let’s go home.”


End file.
